The Ambition of A Swan
by thesizzleofsimabelle22
Summary: When a ballet dancer is shot on stage, the CSI have to delve into the world of classical dance, uncovering some unsettling and frightening secrets along the way...no outright pairings, but maybe some hints? ;


**Ahh NEW STORY!!! im actually reeeallly excited about this one, cuz i can already feel how much its gonna be to write...and i think i'll proabaly get it done faster than my other story, just cuz im gonna favor this one for a while :D...well, please read, review and enjoy!!**

**DISCLAIMMER: i don't own 'em. nonono. **

The bright ceiling lights began to dim, and the theater slowly faded into darkness, the raised voices of the audience fading simultaneously to a subdued, excited hum. Then even the whispers dwindled away, and the room was swallowed by an absolute silence. Every eye was fastened on black outline of the stage, as the audience waited with bated breath for the heavy, rippling curtain to rise and the music to begin. Act III of _Swan Lake_, preformed by the Nevada Ballet, was about to begin.

When the curtain was finally lifted, the performance was once again underway. The crowd sat mesmerized as dancers soared , glided, and spun, letting the story unfold through their grace and passion. Odette, the Swan Princess was held captive by the evil sorcerer Lord Rothbart, and unable to attend the royal ball where her beloved Prince awaited her arrival. Odile was sent in her place, to trick the love-struck, gullible prince into professing his love for the wrong woman. And just as the last vows of everlasting devotion crossed the Prince's lips, Odette, the spurned and heart-broken swan, appeared in the window of the ballroom, too late to prevent her love's unforgivable mistake. The audience was left breathless and despairing, every heart going out to the forsaken girl fleeing back to the enchanted lake, dying of a broken heart.

And it was at this moment that Lila Kolarova, in the role of the beautiful Odette, would dance the climax of her entire performance so far. The famed solo was one of the most well – known, and challenging, in the ballet world. The spectators watched closely as Kolarova lithely and elegantly unveiled Odette's grief with her body, her movements fluid and delicate, a wisp of gleaming white flowing across the stage. Her exquisite performance, paired with the hauntingly beautiful music that accompanied this solo, brought tears to more than a few eyes as she captivated her audience.

One pair of eyes followed the ballerina's light-footed progress more closely than any other. This particular spectator watched from high up in the wings, their presence cloaked by the dust-clouded shadows of the prop tower and the hefty folds of velvet curtain behind which they hid. The brightly glowing eyes never strayed from the girl dancing on the stage below; they were fixated with manic hunger on her leaping, gliding figure. A sharp intake of breath came from the dim outline of a mouth, and a straying spotlight caught the hidden face for a second, illuminating it fleetingly. Those haunted eyes gleamed like burning coals, smoldering with feverish, destructive emotion. And then the light was gone from the prop tower, and the crouched figure was left in darkness to observe the show.

The music began to rise in volume and speed; the dancer's steps grew quicker and more intense. She jumped, a flying swan, white arms extending to become wings. Of course, no one heard Lila Kolarova's laborious, harsh breathing and pounding heart over the swelling music as her solo neared its peak. No one heard the click of a loaded gun either, and the sound of the shot itself was drowned out entirely by crescendo of the frenzied, heart-rending music . One moment, Lila was center stage , legs rising and falling in beautiful arcs, her dainty silhouette alighted by the spotlight as her sweat-misted skin gleamed. The next, she was frozen mid-step, a strange, confused look appearing on her face before she crumpled softly to the ground, a crimson rose blossoming on the snowy white of her costume.

The enchanting music came to a screeching halt as the first screams arose from the audience, and the spotlight remained steadily on the fallen heap of white on stage, as a shadow slid unnoticed from the prop tower.

* * *

Gilbert Grissom, CSI, arrived at the Walsh Theater precisely 20 minutes after the call had come in; he was an intelligent-looking man with graying hair and eyes hidden behind dark sunglasses. He was met promptly at the yellow tape by Detective Jim Brass of the Homicide Division, who as always was ready to convey his own knowledge of the situation to his colleague.

"DB is Lila Kolarova, 18 years old. She's a dancer with the Nevada Ballet; they were performing _Swan Lake_." Brass explained as they entered the cool, well-lit theater and approached the stage, where the body of the girl was currently being examined by David Phillips, the crime lab's assistant coroner. Grissom quickly climbed the steps to join David at the girl's side. He crouched down to get a better look at the victim, taking in her glazed blue eyes and startled expression. David spoke up, squinting at the thermometer in his hand.

"Liver temp's around 94, she died less than a hour ago, but I guess you already knew that… Single GSW to the upper torso, which appears to be the COD. Exsanguination. " He looked up at Grissom expectantly through his wire-rimmed glasses. But the older CSI continued to frown down at the girl as if something was troubling him, and then he looked up suddenly, realizing something. "Brass…how many people were in here when she was shot?"

Brass flipped to a sheet in his notepad, where he had recorded the theater manager's statement. "Somewhere shy of 400. But don't count on any useful witnesses. It was pitch-black in here, and I doubt anyone heard the shot over the music. Plus, everyone was watching the show, not looking around for murderers." He shrugged.

Grissom sighed, standing up and straightening his jacket. A pinched, cynical smile formed on his lips. "_Swan Lake…_ let me guess, she was shot during the "Dying Swan" solo?"

Brass chuckled. "You guessed it…heh, it looks like our murderer had a sense of humor."

Grissom looked back down at the pale, white-clad girl lying at his feet, feathered head-piece askew and arms lying bent at her sides like broken wings. The small smile that had briefly shown itself on his face disappeared entirely, and his eyes were grave. "There's nothing funny about this."


End file.
